Thursday, June 30, 2011

After many emails back and forth, several long phone calls, and uncountable texts, I finally met Race Cars.

The more I “got to know” RC, the more I liked him. He was silly, ridiculous, and cute, and seemed to dig me. Also, once I accidentally was at his place of employment and saw him. Tall! Cute!

Plans would never work out. I’d be too busy, he’d be too busy. He bailed on plans twice, but reassured me that he was interested. He seemed to always only be available at ungodly hours of the night on the weekends.

I knew that I would be away a lot, and I didn’t want to wait until the end of June to meet him. I decided to propose something ridiculous.

Was it a trap? Was he really always busy? Was 3:30am really the only time he was free? These are questions better left for scholars to answer.

I suggested that we meet at an ungodly hour of the night, that we’d go somewhere and hangout in a lame and chaste way. He asked if we could make out. I said sure, as long as we both wanted to.

He picked me up outside my building. I was nervous, he was nervous. There was very little eye contact, but that’s probably best since he was driving. We chatted a bit, talking about our day. Upon reflection, it was mostly me stammering nervously as I admired the thickness of his arms and hands as he gripped the steering wheel.

We drove around for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I asked him where we were going, and he said “There’s this place I want to show you. It’s like Harry Potter. It’s like Ravencourt.”

The city disappeared, and we ended up on a dark winding road flanked by tall arching trees. It was raining lightly and the clouds blocked out the moonlight. “There are a lot of trees,” I said. “Yup,” he answered. “Oh, it’s just like the country,” I stammered nervously, panic starting to swell in my throat. “Yup, isn’t it great?” he answered. He stopped the car and backed into a hidden approach. He turned the car off, and then scrambled to turn off the clock light.

I asked him if he was going to murder me. He said that he was, and asked if that was inconvenient, if I had a lot to do the next day. This was followed by several minutes of very awkward conversation, with him trying to ask me if I wanted to make out and me desperately rambling about anything not relating to making out while tugging my dress closer to my knees. This wasn’t because I didn’t want to make out. Make no mistake, I wanted him badly.

Frustrated, he asked “Should I drive you home?” and I said “No… I want to be here.” We turned to each other, made eye contact. I continued, “I’m just shy and you make me nervous.”

“Well, then,” he said, “I guess I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands.” He pushed the button on his seat belt and it whooshed over his body and clinked into place loudly. “I guess I will prepare, too,” I said as I undid my own belt and placed my purse on the floor. We turned to each other once again.

He lunged at me then, chuckling to himself, kissing me like it was a race, and grabbing at me greedily.

I was on the defense, pushing his hands away from my bra, trying to slide them towards my knees when he tried reaching further. I kissed him once for every three times he kissed me. We clearly had different make-out agendas. I wanted a patient stallion, but I was getting more of a wild bronco. Luckily, it wasn’t my first rodeo. I think that he thought he was passionately seducing me - it was like he learned what he knew from a bad porno.

We moved to the backseat, and made out for a while. It wasn’t particularly good, but it was fun and not totally bad. It was the back seat of a car that didn’t have automatic windows, pitch black outside, raining, and in the forest. I was caught up in the moment! It felt like how high school should have been.

When the sun started to rise he suddenly decided that he had to leave (he said he worked at 8am. It was 5:30) and drove me home.

When I got home I realized that the casualties of the tryst were my dignity and an earring.

"So I messaged you just to chat but I'm kind of concerned. I mean, we could hit it off really well, end up having a few drinks, next thing you know you're giving me your number because I'm too shy to ask for it, I finally get up the nerve to call and we take in a movie, have some dinner, I relax, you relax, we go out a few more times, get to know each other's friends, spend a lot of time together, then finally get past this sexual tension and really develop this intense sex life that is truly incredible, decide our relationship is solid and stable, so we move in together for a while, then a few months later get married, I get a promotion, you get a promotion, we buy a bigger house. You really want kids, but I really want freedom, but we have a kid anyway, only to find that I am resentful, the sparks start to fade and to rekindle them we have two more lovely kids, but now I work too much to keep up with the bills, have no time for you, you're stressed and stop taking really good care of yourself, so to get past our slow sex life and my declining self-confidence I turn to an outside affair for sexual gratification. You find out because I'm careless and a lousy liar, you throw me out (justifiably so) and we have to explain to the kids why mommy and daddy are splitting up. That's just too sad. Think about the children. For God's sake, if you chat with me and we hit it off, let's just keep it sexual, because we both know where it's going."

Sunday, June 26, 2011

"I came across your profile and was quite enamored by such an articulate and heavenly blessed beauty. I would be kicking myself if I didn't ask, so I was wondering if you would accept an engagement of witty banter between two intellectuals? Of course this "engagement" may start off as purely platonic but my sensual desires will most likely guide our cohesive unity down more erotic, lascivious, and sexual paths that will include but are not limited to passionate make out sessions under the star lit sky, dry humping, fondling each others naughty parts inducing orgasms, and an abundance of new uncharted sexual positions where I assert my pure dominance in establishing a realm of absolute sovereignty in your nether regions.
Is this something you would be interested in pursuing?"

Saturday, June 25, 2011

"Thirty years later he could not come to any other conclusion: women were indisputably better than men. They were gentler, more affectionate, loving and compassionate; they were less prone to violence, selfishness, cruelty or self-centeredness. Moreover, they were more rational, intelligent and hardworking.

What on earth were men for, Michel wondered as he watched sunlight play across the curtains. In earlier times, when bears were more common, perhaps masculinity served a particular and irreplaceable function, but for centuries now men clearly served no useful purpose. For the most part they assuaged their boredom playing tennis, which was a lesser evil; but from time to time they felt the need to change history--which basically meant inciting revolutions or wars. Aside from the senseless suffering they caused, revolutions and wars destroyed the best of the past, forcing societies to rebuild from scratch. Without regular and continuous progress, human evolution took random, irregular and violent turns for which men--with their predilection for risk and danger, their repulsive egotism, their irresponsibility and their violent tendencies--were directly to blame. A world of women would be immeasurably superior, tracing a slower but unwavering progression, with no U-turns and no chaotic insecurity, toward a general happiness." - Michel Houellebecq, The Elementary Particles

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

This is going to sound entirely ridiculous but I need to write it out so I can have some recond of the influx of men in my life. I have gone from none to an excess. I plan to fuck all of them.

I will arrange them by age.

Garrett
Age 24
This guy is recently separated after a two year marriage. He gets anxious in social situations and does not do well with flashing lights or large crowds. He has tattoos, a pierced nose, and multiple stretched piercings in his ears. He is a maintenance guy and is recording his own album in his apartment. I hate the music. He had never even heard Led Zeppelin until he was 18. He is awkward but cute and sweet. I want to fuck him.

Tyler
Age 26
I don't know much about this guy except for the that he is a ginger, likes to ride bikes, and does crafts. He seems cool and we are going to go for a bike ride in the next week. I have always wanted to fuck a ginger.

Graveyard Guy
Age 38
I have only met up with him once since we reconnected last month. He texts me about wanting to eat me out almost daily. It is honestly boring and exhausting at this point. He recently suggested the idea of a threesome with another guy. This feels like a bucket list thing. Anyway, I am sure I will have sex with him a few more times before summer is over, even though he annoys the shit out of me.

Old Guy
Age 43
This guy is divorced but thankfully has no kids. He is a total old hipster dude that wears Ben Sherman, listens to 60's rock, and has many tattoos including on his hands and neck. He wears fun hats and thick framed glasses. I am super excited because I have such a boner for both tattoos and old guys.

Basically, I am going to whore it up with the help of internet dating websites.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

A little about us...

We are five super awesome gals and one guy who use this blog for our rants, observations, and stories about boys, girls, sex, and relationships. We hope our words make you laugh or maybe even gape in horror.